


Amore

by penny



Series: FMA in Roanapur [2]
Category: Black Lagoon, Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Community: no_true_pair, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-18
Updated: 2009-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:59:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penny/pseuds/penny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumor has it Archer's enamored with the Hotel Moscow bitch, and meeting her face to face, Kimberly can't blame the kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amore

Rumor has it Archer's enamored with the Hotel Moscow bitch, and meeting her face to face, Kimberly can't blame the kid. The woman dresses sharp -- straight skirt, low-cut but tasteful blouse, jacket -- and carries herself well. Competitors call her a fry-face bitch, and yeah, the scars are there, but she doesn't try to hide them, doesn't let them detract from her strengths.

And she does have strengths. They've earned her loyal men. Attack dogs. And they're competent because she doesn't have use for anything else. Kimberly doesn't object when a pair of her dogs track him down and offer to escort him up to her office.

She is waiting for him, as calm and cool Archer on his best day. She sizes him up through the haze of smoke from her cigar. "So, you're Archer's Crimson."

"Yes." He removes his hat, waits for her to gesture to the chair in front of her desk before taking a seat. He hopes she has information about Archer's abduction, because he's still too new to Roanapur to waste his time on social calls when his boss is missing.

"I appreciate the help Archer offered with the Columbians. I understand I have you to thank for the destruction of their safe house."

She's already sent her gratitude through Archer. That's not the reason for this summons. Kimberly crosses his legs, waits for her to get to the point.

"I also suspect I have you to thank for all those car bombs that took out my men during the Selim Bradley affair. I can't prove it, of course. Archer's a gentleman, and he treats business like a lover. No kissing and telling, that one."

Kimberly allows her a bland, polite smile. He'd had help with the car bombs. Some of them had been Hughes' handiwork. A pity the man turned out to be CIA and had to be taken out. He'd been good with those throwing knives, not half bad with a bomb.

She smiles faintly. "So you're a gentleman, too, I see."

"Only when there's a lady present."

"Aren't you a flatterer?" She rests her cigar at the ashtray at her arm and folds her hands under her chin.

Kimberly traces the tattoo on his left palm. "I don't like playing coy games. Why don't you tell me why you had your little puppies bring me up?"

"Puppies?" She chuckles, and he can understand why Archer's so taken with her. "Oh, Mister Kimberly, my puppies can rip you apart."

Kimberly smiles. "Not easily."

"So certain, are you?"

"You don't get to be an old fuck like me by being a pussy."

"Nor do you get to be a member of Hotel Moscow."

"That could be why everyone calls you a fry-faced bitch."

She laughs, and Kimberly thinks it's an honest laugh. As honest as people like them get, anyway. "It's one of my more flattering names."

"You going to shoot me if I call you sweetheart?"

"Yes."

He considers her a moment. "Why don't you tell me why you had your faithful bring me up?"

"Oh, they're my faithful, now?" She reaches for her cigar. "Just as you are Archer's?"

Kimberly shrugs.

"Tell me, faithful dog, if your owner was being detained by the new crop of Columbians at one of the waterfront warehouses, what would you do?"

"Go rip them apart."

"So simple, is it?"

He shrugs again. "Sometimes, simple and direct is the best way to deliver the message."

She rises and comes around the front of the desk, arranging herself like some femme fatale, one hip propped against the edge of the desk, cigar practically dangling from her fingers. "And what message would that be, Mister Kimberly?"

He flashes her a Crimson smile.

* * *

He can really see why Archer's so enamored with the woman. She doesn't hesitate to wade into the action, and she runs an efficient operation. She's in the car with him on the way to the warehouse, checking over her guns and issuing orders for her second to pass on. Archer once mentioned she and her inner circle had been in the Soviet army. It shows.

If Archer ever has to go up going against Hotel Moscow, it won't end well. Crimson runs his thumbs across his palms. If he wants to come out of it, he'll...hmm, well, taking out the bitch early will have her dogs after him for revenge. Taking out her dogs early will have her after him for revenge. Best take out the dogs, then. One person's always easier to handle than a pack.

"Making your own plans, Mister Kimberly?" The sound of her sliding a clip into her gun punctuates her question.

"Oh, you're plan's perfect, and I like my part. I'm just daydreaming."

"I see." She shifts, crosses her legs, mock-pouts when Crimson doesn't eye her calves. "And who dies in your daydream?"

Crimson just smiles.

"Such a secretive man." She turns back to her second. "Have a doctor on standby, too, Sergeant. It's been long enough that they may have started in on the torture."

When the car pulls to a stop, Crimson steps out first and holds the door open for her. Technically, this is neutral territory, so he could act without Hotel Moscow's blessing, but considering how messy things will get, Crimson doesn't mind having an advocate to help smooth things over with the other organizations in Roanapur.

"I'm almost hoping they start shooting. It's been awhile since my snipers had decent practice." She steps around a puddle and strides toward the warehouse.

There's a pair of armed guards waiting for them. They go down easy. There are more in the warehouse. They go down easy, too, but there are enough of them that Crimson can lose himself in the gun battle.

Bombs are more satisfying. They rumble through him, and the explosions are things of beauty. But a good fight -- gun or fist -- gets the blood pumping, serves as a different test of skill. Crimson can enjoy them when they happen.

And the Hotel Moscow bitch puts on an impressive show. Crimson can't watch too much of it, but the glimpses he does catch make him a little enamored with her. She knows how to fight, how to lead, and it's not long before they've made their way up to the office where Archer's being held.

The fuckers had started in on the torture. And because they were incompetent fuckers, they hadn't killed Archer when the fight started. Not that he's in decent shape. He's unconscious -- Crimson can't tell if it's from pain, a whack on the head, or loss of blood -- and his breath's shallow, complexion pale. The blood oozing from the deeper cuts stands out too sharply. Damn good thing Balalaika arranged for a doctor.

"My my my. Such sloppiness." She reaches to trace the cuts criss-crossing Archer's abdomen. Crimson catches her wrist, squeezes. She glances up at him through lowered lashes. "Playing the loyal dog or something else?"

Crimson jerks his head towards the door. "If it were you on the table, would your sergeant down there let someone touch you?"

Her hand, the one he's restraining, twitches. She tosses her head, meets his eyes squarely, and her smile's all teeth, sharp and dangerous. "Oh, what a loyal, loyal dog." She presses up against him and cups his cheek with her free hand. "No, my sergeant wouldn't let anyone touch me."

He lets go of her wrist. "Where's the doctor?"

"I'll have him sent up." She kisses his cheek. "It's been a pleasure, Mister Kimberly."


End file.
